Second Chances
by Cairnsy
Summary: Given a second chance by fate, is it too late for Oliver and Percy? Sequel to 'Letting Go'. Warning - m/m slash, Oliver/Percy.


Authors notes: This contains slash - that's a relationship between two males. Not only does in contain slash, but it's between Oliver and Percy, one of the more lesser used pairings. This is the sequel to Letting Go which can be found at http://www.fanfiction.net/master.cfm?action=story-read&storyid=58920 if you haven't already read it and have a desire to read the two stories in order :) 

It's important to note that this takes place two years after Goblet of Fire, the Wizard world is currently at war with Voldemort. 

Extra authors notes: For all potential flamers - this is for you. The quality of the flames I've received have been of *really* low quality, it's quite embarrassing really. Other H.P slash writers have been getting some fantastic flames, while most of mine are of the 'This is GAY' (well duh, it's slash) variety. Do me a favour and write something witty and intelligent, hmm? A slash writer is judged by her flames after all *grin* 

Warning: contains mush, I can't write romance for the life of me. 

************  
**Second Chances**

The war had been going on far too long. He missed being able to walk calmly and without fear down a street, missed the abandonment of youth. But most of all he missed his innocence. That deeply inbeded belief that good would *always* triumph, that only those who were thick with sin and deceit would be the casualties of a war between all encompassing evil and goodness. 

Yes, he'd lost his innocence a long time ago. 

The war had of course destroyed all of the carefully woven dreams he had imagined for himself. There would be no Quidditch World Cup for him, no loftily holding the cup high above his head, the crowd whipped into an adoring frenzy. His dreams of success and achievements on the Quidditch field seemed so pretentious, his do or die attitude laughable. 

He still flew, but his battlefield was not that of a Quidditch ground, rather the field of Mars. Charon had been working overtime this past year. 

He had died mid-October, a rather blustery day if he remembered correctly - the days had a tendency to blur into a solid mass of red during war. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine how his mother would have reacted when the owl arrived, the shock tinged with disbelief that the son she had thought was so gifted, so untouchable, was indeed touchable after all. It had been a quick death of course, a blow to the head from which he had never recovered. Not exactly a hero's death, but that too seemed insignificant now. 

He glanced at the thin band of gold that wove it's way around his wrist. He'd had to sacrifice everything to become a member of the elite SS, the ministry's main aerial attack against Voldemort and his army. So elite was the group that the members were unknown to all but the Minister of Magic himself, although he suspected that Dumbledore knew as well. Their swift attacks and daring raids had made them the main source of opposition that Voldemort had needed desperately to strike out. The group had always been too knowledgeable and protected to fall into the hands of the baboons he called an army, so Voldemort had sort easier targets instead. 

Their families. 

How many defenceless, innocent relatives had taken the blow of those cruel wands? The new wave of riders had been determined that no more innocents would be punished for their crimes. 

So, he had died. Oliver Wood existed no more, other than a poorly constructed cross flooded in flowers and gifts of all sizes and colours. He'd visited it himself once - how many have the opportunity to visit there own grave? The amount of people who had left memorials of his life had surprised him. There had been notes and gifts from those he played with, all magically protected from the natural and not so natural elements that occasionally battered the graveyard. The caged snitch from Ms McGonagall had especially touched him, as did the toilet seat the twins had left him. But even they had paled in comparison to the small, seemingly insignificant gift placed near the base of the grave. 

Two roses entwined so perfectly that he had found it impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Destined to forever live in full bloom, the yellow one was complemented perfectly by its companions brilliant shade of red. 

The symbolism had not been lost on him. Neither had he needed a note to identify the sender. 

That Oliver was gone. He missed being him, the one held so high in regard for something so simplistic as being able to save a goal. The one whose family was there at every turn, who loved him unassumingly. But war was a time of many sacrifices, of both the heart and the soul. 

"We've got the next mission, Oliver - we leave in 15 minutes" 

Finally, some action. Perhaps that could save him from the morbid depths of his thoughts. 

*********************** 

The war had been going on too long, Percy thought wearily as he tried to make himself more comfortable in the impossibly rigid chair. The meeting had long since lost even the pretence of a purpose, the petty squabbling and finger pointing past the point of tiring and bordering on sheer annoyance. The ache in his temples reminded him that he hadn't slept in 30 or so hours, and *this* was how he was wasting precious sleeping time. 

This was the Ministry he had held so highly? 

Part of it, only part of it, he reminded himself sternly, ignoring the sudden outburst from the overly robust man on his left. The war had claimed many victims, including members of the ministry. Percy had never imagined that his numerous promotions would come on the backs of others misfortunes, and his current position as a member of the Strategic Defence Council came with a bitter edge to it. 

His promotion had been borne from the death of another. How could *anyone* be proud of that? 

There were, of course, those who thought he had gained his position on the team due to his fathers name, those critics had been silenced quickly enough by his achievements. Who would have thought that Percy Weasley, destined to be a paper pusher, would have ended up heading the most stealth of surveying and analysis teams the Ministry had? 

There was a *reason* why he had been the top student to graduate from Hogwarts in over four decades. Fools. 

Besides, there were no paper pushers at war time. 

The responsibility had undeniably taken it's toll. He was no longer the young, naive Percy who believed that the world was his for the taking. At 20, he had lived and breathed death for almost 2 years, been an unwilling witness to the harshness and cruelty of this ongoing battle. 

Even if they managed to win, there were some things they would never regain, lives lost that could never be replaced. 

*You didn't lose him* part of his mind taunted him cruelly, never being one to let such an opportunity to bring up unpleasant memories to pass it by. 

*He was never yours to lose* 

The painful memories of innocent youth were brushed aside quickly by the entrance of an owl. Forgetting their squabble for a moment, one of the uptight women at the head of the table unscrolled the letter attached to it's leg before wordlessly handing it to him, looking down her nose the entire time. She was one of the members who had never appreciated him being on the team - too young, too green. The fact that his qualifications out stripped hers by a mile was only an added incentive. 

The note was short and simple, his team were wanted to survey out a possible hideout for some of Voldemorts more denser troops, then report their findings to the Minister himself. 

"As much as I would love to continue this discussion, I'm needed elsewhere" He dryly said to the group before vacating his seat. Duty called. 

Thank God. 

********************************************** 

Oliver flew silently, going over the mission orders. One of their agents had vital information on the Dark Lords whereabouts and was dropping the information off at an old training ground. Normally their squad wasn't reduced to mere pick up jobs, but the information the agent had obtained could be vitally important. 

Vodrick, once captain to the elite Bulgarian Quidditch team and now squadron leader, motioned soundlessly towards what Oliver could only assume was the intended pick up. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the ground beneath him, barely picking up the war tattered buildings in the dimming light. For a sliver of a moment he almost imagined a slight movement in the nearby woods, but dismissed it as a play of the fading light as they tentatively landed. 

As one, the group quietly split into three prearranged groups, Oliver and his four partners weaving themselves among the tree's, companions of the shadows. It was mere minutes before his well toned hearing picked up the rustled sound of footsteps, a quick glance at his companions indicated that they too had picked up on it. Rachel, further to his right, held up 2 fingers. Good, only a couple then, they could be disposed of quietly and quickly. Wordlessly they fanned out, encircling the unsuspecting group. 

They were good, Oliver reflected. The stealth nature in which their prey moved was to be commended, the ground that was several layers deep in autumn leaves would be hard for any team to mobilise in. One of Voldemort's men had obviously done something right for once. However they couldn't compare to the meticulously trained, superb brilliance that was that of the SS fleet. There was not a witch or wizard alive who would have the ability to sneak up on one of his team, it was one of the reasons the group was so feared - no one every saw them coming. 

"For a dead man you sure make a lot of noise." The cool, familiar voice as well as the wand shoved unceremoniously into his back had a similar effect to a freezing spell. His honed instincts failed him as Percy, *Percy!*, disarmed easily. Confused, he let himself be pushed back into the clearing where they had originally landed, his thoughts clouded by disbelief and stupor. What in the world was Percy doing here? 

"What do you think you are doing?!" Vodrick hissed at Percy, eyes ablaze. To Oliver's utter amazement, the rest of the S.S had been unceremoniously rounded up like cattle and driven into the clearing as well. With a thoughtless shove, Percy pushed him towards the others, freeing him of his wand as he did so. 

What the hell was going on?! 

"You are compromising our entire mission!" Vodrick continued. In contrast to the fiery anger that was breathed in every word Vodrick said, Percy remained professionally cold, a mask of indifference etched perfectly on his face as he ignored Vodricks scathing demands and remarks. 

"And what exactly *is* your mission? No-one is supposed to out here except for us." Percy instead asked, eyes narrowed, his wand never wavering. 

This wasn't the Percy he remembered. Not this cold man who hadn't even flinched upon finding his ex-lover alive, whose masks seemed more of a permanent fixture now than ever. How far gone was the old Percy? 

"They're SS" One of Percy's group spoke up, throwing him one of the golden bands that were a trademark feature of the group and had obviously been stripped from one of their wrists. For a moment surprise was allowed to leak into Percy's mask, resulting in Oliver feeling an almost perverse sense of pleasure that *something* could still get past them. For the first time since this sordid ordeal had begun, Percy's eyes unwillingly drifted away from Vodrick's and locked with his, a flicker of emotion flashing across them before he ripped his eyes down to the bangle he held in his hand. 

Not that far gone after all. 

"That doesn't explain why you are here" Percy continued after a brief pause. 

"Why would your group of the flying dead be sent on surveillance?" 

"Surveillance?!" Vodrick replied, surprised. 

"Why would anyone want to survey this dump? It's been abandoned for months! We know you are here for the package. There is no need to hide you purpose." 

"Package?" Now it was Percy who was starting to get annoyed. 

"There is no package here, my people have scouted the area out entirely. What the hell is going on here?!" The annoyance was ringing from Percy's voice. 

"If this is another Ministry blunder I swear ..." Percy was cut off from any further threats by a dark voice emerging from the shadows. 

"Oh, it's not a Ministry error, my dear Percy, unless you count the appointing of a child in charge of what is supposed to be one of the Ministries most elite units, then yes, I suppose you *could* put it down to one." 

Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. Oliver could barely contain the snarl that threatened to break across his face - they'd been set up by the only henchman Voldemort had that had two brain cells to rub together. The rigidness of Percy's stance was all that belied his own discomfort of being in the presence of a man who had so plagued his family with grief. 

"It was amazingly easy to get into your beloved Ministry. Originally we planned to only take down your flying squad, as you know they've caused us a lot of bother for my Lord, but when the opportunity came to rid the world of a Weasley, well I couldn't pass up the opportunity." 

The Death Eaters encircled both groups. Oliver tensed, waiting for a signal from Vodrick. They had an escape plan - of course they had an escape plan! But what about Percy and his team? Surely they couldn't have expected anything like this to happen. How were they suppose to get the others out of trouble - they couldn't simply leave them behind ... couldn't leave Percy behind. 

Percy. He'd forgotten just how complicated his life suddenly became when the other boy was in it. 

"Any famous last words?" Malfoy mocked, his wand pointing at Percy. Even Oliver who knew how talented Percy was, knew that he would have no chance in a duel against Malfoy. 

"Two, actually." The other man replied quietly. 

"Wingardium Levios!" The dead leaves that carpeted the sodden ground rose sharply in the air, swirling wildly in a blinding frenzy. Momentarily thrown off balance by the foliage blizzard, Oliver tumbling back a few steps, vainly tried to make heads or tails of his surroundings but could see nothing through the leaves. 

".............!" He called out, feeling his broom in his hand almost immediately. His composure returning quickly, he barely noticed that those around him had made the same call. 

_So Percy had had an escape plan after all._

***** 

Of course he had an escape plan in case something like this happened! Percy thought as he jumped onto his broom, the planned diversion the only signal needed to urge his other team mates into action. The almost comical expression of shock that had crossed Lucius' face would have been funny if the fact that Lucius thought he was *stupid* enough to go into hostile territory without an escape plan didn't infuriate the hell out of him. 

He was *not* riding on anyones coattails, damn it! 

But there was no time for worrying about his foolish pride at the moment, he had to make sure his team got out of this mess. 

_And what about Oliver? Are you going to simply leave him?_

He shook his head, vainly trying to clear his thoughts as he dodged his way through the dense trees. Oliver, alive. His heart had stilled for an impossibly long time when he had spied the all to familiar figure. Denial had been the first emotion, followed quickly by the thought his eyes were playing tricks as result of much too little sleep. However the familiar gait, the unforgettable form and the look of utter determination on the strong face had convinced him of exactly who he was. 

He'd wanted to put the Avada Kedavra curse on him right there and then. Bastard. 

His thoughts were diverted from the SS member by a sudden yelp from above him. 

*Devon!* 

One of his younger members was being tailed by a Death Eater, unable to shake the obviously well trained rider. Cursing under his breath, Percy brought his broom to a sudden halt, almost colliding with a tree as a result. With a flick of his wrists his wand was in his gasp and pointing up at the unsuspecting death eater. 

"inflammo!" 

Percy fought the urge to smirk as the Death Eaters brooms tail caught fire, sending the broom careening out of control. That moment proved to be his down doing however, as a bolt of energy surged behind him, violently knocking his broom. This time the tree was unavoidable. 

***************************************** 

If this was a poorly written romance novel, Oliver reflected, then Percy would look like an angel as he slept. All the tension would simply be erased from his face, making him look years younger, and innocent - oh so innocent. 

This wasn't a poorly written romance novel, and Percy was far from being a helpless heroine. The ruby hair that was so often uncontrollable was now a tangled mess resting lopsidedly on the top of his head. The finely chiselled face was scrunched up into a parody of a frown and he tossed slightly in his sleep. And how in the world had he never known after spending 5 years in the same room with him that Percy ... 

"And if you *ever* ride my pink elephant again I will never forgive you!" 

... sleep talked. The smirk that had crossed his face faded. It would be so much easier if this *was* one of those romance novels his sister read. Then Percy would throw himself into his arms, declare his undying love and then badly plotted and cliche ridden sex would ensue, but sex neither less. 

He'd be lucky if Percy even talked to him. 

There was the the small fact he had saved the other boys life, however - the guy had to be grateful for that! If he hadn't spotted his harsh rendezvous with the forest floor, chances were the Death Eater would have finished him off. Luckily for Percy, Oliver was a talented enough flyer to make an escape even *with* an overloaded broom. Then there was the matter of Percy being the one who had severed all ties with **him**. So why was he the one who was feeling guilty? 

The answer was of course lying on the bed he stood guard over. All these years and he had never been able to let go, never been able to get over the young boy who had stolen his heart as a teenager and haunted his dreams ever since. Oh, there had been other men - the odd woman as well, yet none of them had come close to touching the feelings he still felt for the lanky red head. 

The competition was gone, now that Penelope was out of the picture he could almost feel for sorry for the girl. The break-up had been brief - according to the Daily Gossip, work had been sited as the main reason. 

"Work, hmm Percy?" He whispered softly, brushing a stray lock off of the sleeping boy's face. 

"I suppose it was just be chance you decided to leave Penelope a week after my funeral." 

Once he'd joined SS he'd thought his ties to Percy had finally been completely severed, yet fate obviously had something different in store for them. It couldn't just be chance that they'd met again after all these years, and under these circumstances. 

They had a lot to talk about when Percy regained consciousness. 

"I said the flying hippopotamus you dolt, not the monkey!" 

It was going to be an interesting wait. 

********************************************** 

It was through a grey maze of befuddlement that Percy finally found himself regaining consciousness, at best a hazy consciousness at that. He blinked a a couple of times slowly, before managing to force his heavy eyes open. 

"So you've finally decide to wake up, Sleeping Beauty. It's about time." He tried to focus on the voice, finally being able to distinguish the blurred figure - both of them. First Oliver was dead, now he had a double? 

Somehow sensing his disorientation, the Olivers picked up a potion and held it to his lips. He gulped the liquid eagerly, feeling it's soothing effects almost immediately start to work on his dulled senses. Even with the potion, it was several long moments before he felt his energy had returned to such a point that he could force himself up onto his elbows, before he found his vision had returned to a semi-reasonable state. 

So it hadn't been some twisted dream then. 

Oliver sat beside him, his eyes full of concern as he glanced down at him. Unable to stop himself, Percy found himself studying those well known features - the strong jaw, the familiar hazel eyes. The way one eyebrow arched slightly higher than the other. And alive, very much alive. 

"How are you feeling?" Oliver asked, his voice carefully neutral. Yet his expressive eyes gave away his attempt at apathy - Oliver had never been good at masking his emotions. 

"I've been better." 

"Your team appeared to have made it away safely - they know you are with us." That was good news at least. 

"You're at one of our bases," Oliver added, answering the question that had been on the tip of Percy's lips. "One of our team will show you how to get back to the Ministry when you're fit enough to travel." 

Well, this was going just dandy. Sure, it was a bit farfetched to believe that Oliver might throw himself at his feet and beg Percy for forgiveness after the torrential *hell* that had been the last year of his life, Oliver probably had no idea the mess his life had been. After all, he had been the one to leave Oliver, the one to get engaged to that ... Penelope. 

So why was he the one feeling betrayed? 

"How is everyone?" Oliver finally asked, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them. Percy shrugged. 

"As good as can be expected, I suppose. Harry and Ron are lucky enough to still be at Hogwarts, they're protected from the worst of it. The twins have grown up a bit, I suppose they've had to." It was funny, he'd tried to force the twins to be more mature when they were all younger, now that they actually were he missed their antics. He despised this war from robbing all of them of their innocence. 

He despised this small talk as well. 

"And you?" Oliver asked softly, his head tilted. Percy shrugged again, uncomfortable. He had a sudden urge to return to the non-commital drabble that he had cursed just a moment before, however refrained from it. 

"It hasn't been easy." He instead replied, feeling the need to be honest with him. 

"It's been difficult for everyone, I believe. You?" So the change of focus could have been a little more subtle, that wasn't important. This time it was Oliver's turn to shrug. 

"It's hard to cut yourself off from everyone you know and love, I miss them." Even Percy on one of his more denser days couldn't have missed the wistfulness in Oliver's voice. A pang of pity rode through him, and it was only dulled slightly by the remembrance that Oliver had gone along willingly. No matter how troubled his relations with his brothers became, the thought of losing them would be so unbearably painful that ... 

... that it would be similar to what he had felt when he'd heard Oliver had been killed. Damn. Why had Oliver became such a fixture in his life? 

"The last I heard, your mother was doing well," Percy lied easily. Truth be told, he hadn't heard from Mrs Wood since the funeral, but the way the news lightened up gloomy face was enough to convince him that the lie was fine. 

He didn't even want to begin to contemplate why Oliver feeling happier was having the same effect on him. He was supposed to be ripping into him for dying, God damn it! He should be ranting and raving about how much the idiot had hurt him - hurt _all_ of them! 

Yet simply being in his presence again after all these years .... 

"Just tell me one thing, Oliver," he asked, his voice neutral. 

"Did they ask you to join them, or ... or did you seek them out?" For some reason the answer meant everything to him. 

"They asked me. They were desperate, and I didn't have the right to say no." Oliver's voice was soft, his eyes searching, probing for some form of reaction from him. Percy had no idea if he found it. 

More silence. Not quite as stifling as before, yet it seemed heavier, thick with emotion that had been pent up over the years. He lay there, propped on his elbows, as Oliver hesitantly cupped his face with a calloused hand, almost absent mindedly brushing a strong finger softly against his cheek. Percy didn't have the strength or the desire to pull away. He let his eyes drift close, content - even if it was for just a moment. He was tired. Tired of always having to be in control, of always having to continuously prove himself. It had been to his family and schoolmates while at school, and now at the Ministry it was to every other idiot who believed he didn't deserve his position. They were going to have a field day when he returned - he'd messed this one up big time, although how Malfoy and his goons had managed to penetrate the area without them knowing still remained a mystery ... 

But for now, he could forget about all of them. Oliver was the one person who had never expected him to perfect, who had always been content to just be with plain old Percy. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be accepted so easily and readily. Almost. 

He'd never been able to forget Oliver. Gods know, he had tried. 

And it seemed that just possibly, Oliver hadn't been able to forget about him. 

The million galleon question was, was he brave enough to do anything about it? 

***** 

He really shouldn't have expected anything different, this was Percy after all. So they'd shared a moment reminiscent of the far too distant past, it meant nothing if Percy was going to ignore the fact it had happened the next day. 

Which, in typical Percy style, he had. And it exasperated the hell out of him. It had been three days since Percy had ended up at the base, and besides for the first night Percy had barely said a word to him. Cold, calm - strictly professional. Utterly closed off. 

And now he was leaving, and Oliver was letting him, once again. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to the Portkey" He asked uncomfortably as Percy slipped on a jacket that one of the SS had leant him. Even though the Portkey was a stones throw from the camp, the chilly autumn winds made the jacket necessary. Percy simply shook his head. Last time they had said goodbye, Percy had kissed him. This time all Oliver could do was hug the other man awkwardly. 

This wasn't fair, damn it. But he could think of nothing to say as Percy headed towards the door, nothing as the door closed resoundingly as the other man left. 

3 days. Percy had been here three days - that was it. Yet he'd somehow managed to disrupt the fragile balance he had worked so hard to achieve when Percy had originally walked out. Percy may have no trouble denying his feelings to himself - and Oliver could still read him well enough to know that Percy's feelings towards him hadn't been extinguished, but Oliver did. Percy wasn't just hurting himself here, he was hurting him as well. 

Well, not this time. 

The hero in those sappy romance books certainly wouldn't have chased after the heroine, but Oliver didn't give a toss. Percy wasn't going anywhere before they had the chance to straighten this out for once and for all. If he had to storm down the corridors of the Ministry itself yelling out the details of their relationship to all the sticky beaks who worked there to get his attention, then so be it. 

Would Percy have reached the Portkey by now? If he had, then ... well, Oliver would just have to follow after him. Shrugging on his own jacket, he strode towards the door, determination etched on his face. Perhaps more roughly than was necessary, he flung the door open. 

"Hi" 

... to find Percy leaning against the wooden frame of the doorway, an uncertain smile playing on his lips. 

"Hi ... Percy?" It came out as more of a question. Shouldn't Percy be stalking the halls of the Ministry by now? It took several moments of silence for Percy to realise that he was the one supposed to say something next. 

"Oh, yeah. I suppose you're wondering why I'm still here?" That was an understatement. Oliver had been prepared to go roaring into the Ministry to face Percy, to make him realise just what an *idiot* he was being. He had not expected him to be standing on his doorstep. 

Not that he was complaining, mind you. No time to dwell on that thought, Percy had finally started speaking. 

"I mean, I know it was a while go, a *very* long while ago - heck, clogs were still in fashion, that's how long ago it was. And, well, it's not as though there haven't been other people, nice people you know? But not exactly 'I want to spend the rest of my life willingly with you' people people. Penelope I guess you could say fit into that mould - really fit into that mould. No, she had a whole new mould made for her - she was one of those 'What the hell were you thinking?!' people person. Nice enough on her good days, but she could be a real dragon when she wanted to be - I'm sure I saw smoke shoot out her nose during one of our arguments. Did you know the twins spent an entire summer trying to split the two of us up? Oh, of course you didn't, you were dead. Silly me." 

Percy was babbling. Percy never babbled. He would have found it amusing (not to mention rather cute) if it wasn't making him so exasperated. Seeming to pick up on this Percy cut off mid babble and blushed slightly. 

"But that wasn't what I wasn't trying to say, was it? I... I mean. Damn it, I'm hopeless at this kind of thing!" Percy nervously ran a hand through his hair, messing it up more than usual. Oliver stood silent, hardly believing that Percy was standing here in front of him attempting to say what he thought - hoped, he was trying to say. He knew this was hard, terribly hard, for Percy to say - but it had to come from him. Percy who had always run, who had always pushed him away, had to be the one to make the first step. 

Just as long as he didn't start ranting about Penelope again, that had a way of *really* killing the mood. 

"I missed you" Percy instead softly said, meeting Oliver's' eyes with his own. He was as vulnerable as Oliver had ever seen him. Percy paused for a moment, seemingly struggling with words. 

"When you died, everything feel apart. All my carefully laid plans seemed so trivial, insignificant. It's funny, I suppose I always thought that you would always be there, waiting for me. Selfish really - to expect that I could stop caring for you but you wouldn't do the same." Percy's laugh was devoid of any humour. 

"And then you died, and I realised that I'd never stopped caring at all, but by then it was too late." He paused, eyes still locked with Oliver's. 

"I was wrong, Oliver. It hurts far more knowing that you've lost the biggest prospect of happiness in your life than not taking the chance at all." 

"And you're willing to take that chance now?" Oliver asked quietly, willing Percy silently to finish what he had started. Percy simply nodded, albeit slowly, as he close the small distance between them in a single stride. 

"That is, if after all this time ..." Percy drifted off, uncertainty once again staining his features. This time however it wasn't confusion over his own feelings, but Oliver's. The idiot. He didn't really think he'd been able to let go either? He couldn't have been less subtle these past few days if he tried. But words were not what was needed now, as he lowered his lips to Percy's. 

The kiss began gently, a soft exploration by two lovers who had been separated for far too long. It quickly became more passionate however as the longing and intensity began to seep through. 

_This_ was how it was supposed to be. 

Breathless, they broke apart several moments later, still wrapped around each other. When Percy had slid his arms around his neck, or when he had himself draped his arms around the smaller mans waist and pulled him close - Oliver had no idea. It felt good though. Better than good, it felt right. 

"What about the Ministry?" Oliver finally asked, realising that they must have expected Percy back several minutes ago. Percy shrugged almost guiltily. 

"I've got so much sick leave saved up I could take several months off. Besides, they wanted me to take a couple of weeks off anyway to make sure I'm completely recovered." 

"All that time, how to spend it?" Oliver asked, a coy smile spreading on his face. Percy rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger, deep in thought. 

"Well I DO have three days worth of paper work to catch up on ... hey!" It was something Oliver would have to remember for the future - tackling Percy to the ground and then straddling him was a *very* effective way of shutting him up. 

"I take it you have other ideas though?" Percy asked from his position on the floor, raising a finely arched eyebrow. Oliver smirked down at him. 

"Let's see - I saved the heroine from a fate worse than death, made him realise that he simply can't live without me, the only thing left is for is the badly written, highly impossible, over the top sex..." 

"But sex neither less" Percy finished with a grin. 

Well, well, well - so Percy could still have as much as a one tracked mind as he remembered, this was going to be fun. But first ... 

"I love you, Percy - you know that, right?" The smaller man froze for a moment beneath him, before relaxing. 

"Yeah, I do. I ... I also ... I mean ..." Percy's attempt at a reply was cut off by Oliver's lips crushing his. Percy wasn't ready to say it yet, possibly wouldn't be for a while. Oliver would be here waiting when he was. 

For now, Oliver thought as he gently regained Percy's lips with his own, this was more than enough. 

**fini.**

Comments appreciated, chocolates looked at forlornly - I'm dieting >_<


End file.
